Allies
by E-MouseGirl
Summary: Supernatural Dresden Files crossover. The Winchesters go to Chicago to hunt down a nest of vampires. They're also hoping to find an ally in the fight against Lucifer. Set after season 4 of Supernatural and Small Favor.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters and concepts of The Dresden Files belong to Jim Butcher. Eric Kripke created those of Supernatural. All I own is this story. This is uniquely for fun and absolutely no profit.

Chapter 1

At first, Sam had gone up to the church just to see if he could go in, if holy ground would admit him entry after what he'd done, after what he'd become.

He had been on a morning supply run while Dean was still sleeping off the previous night's encounter with a vampire. Just one vampire, when they had come ready for a whole nest, shouldn't have been a problem, but the thing had caught them off guard when it had shed its skin and turned into a giant bat. Dead man's blood hadn't had much effect either.

The thing had scratched Sam's arm viciously and cracked three of Dean's ribs by the time they managed to dispatch it.

They had come to Chicago on Castiel's advice. Technically, they had come to Chicago because their research had turned up a hunt and a nest of vampires was a welcome respite from looking up demonic omens – apparently, the ultimate evil was good at hiding - but the angel had suggested that the Windy City might bring them an ally against the newly risen Lucifer. Castiel had warned that this was purely his own intuition, that there was no divine certainty that said ally could be found. That, more than anything, had convinced Dean to come. He trusted his own personal angel considerably more than he did the rest of the Heavenly Host, save Anna.

They had just started checking out the area when the vamp jumped them. Two days in Chicago and they were had already been beat up, and they still had the rest of the nest - which would no doubt now be on high alert - to dispatch. Sam really hoped the angel had been right, and that this ally would turn up soon.

So there he stood, with one hand on the door handle of Saint Mary of the Angel. He half expected the door to be locked, which was perfectly normal for a church in a big city in the middle of the week. A locked door would be a quiet kind of dismissal, leaving him to wonder if it was just bad timing.

The door did open.

Sam took in a breath, braced himself for a blow and took a single step forward. When lightning didn't strike him down, he took another careful step, then another, and another, until he was standing by the last pew. He sat down before his legs gave out from under him. After everything that had happened, he hadn't expected this to be so hard, so meaningful. God was still letting him in.

Hands joined on the back of the pew in front of him and brow pressed to his fingers, Sam Winchester, former demon blood junky, bringer of the apocalypse, releaser of Lucifer, began to pray.

He prayed for his brother, the angels chosen warrior. He prayed for their brotherhood, which had gotten frayed over the last few years. He prayed for himself, for a chance at redemption. He prayed for humanity, for their salvation from the doom Sam had brought upon them. He prayed, begged that Zachariah's words to Dean about God being gone were a lie, a mistake, that God was still there, still watching over them, still listening to his prayers.

At some point, he must have started talking aloud, because a hand squeezed his shoulder and a gentle voice said, "He hears you."

Sam looked up to see the priest standing beside him. "I'm sorry." He scrambled to his feet.

The priest put up a placating hand. "If a church isn't the right place for prayer, I don't know what is. Of course, if you'd prefer to talk, that's what I'm here for. I'm Father Forthill."

"Thank you but, I should be going."

"Is everything all right?" asked a man who had just come down the aisle. He walked with a cane, but was well muscled, giving Sam the impression of a once formidable force only recently taken out of commission.

"Of course Michel. This is a good friend of mine, Michel Carpenter."

The younger man extends a hand politely. "Sam. Nice to meet you."

Michel frowned. When he withdrew his hand, there was blood on it.

Sam lifted his coat sleeve. The bandage on his arm showed three evenly spaced bloody lines where the vampire got him. One side was soaked through with red and blood was running down his arm. "Great," he remarked, and then he remembered that he wasn't alone. "Sorry, must have torn some stitches." Fumbling in his jacket pocket, he took out some napkins that he'd picked up a the diner down the street from the motel. He handed one to Michel and pressed the rest against his forearm.

"We have a first aid kit," suggested the stunned priest.

"No, it's okay, really. I'll take care of it."

The two men stared as Sam hurried out of the church. Michel caught the door before it swung shut, and saw his new acquaintance driving away in a black Chevrolet Impala.

"What kind of man stitches up his own arm?" asked Father Forthill from behind him.

"I'm not sure, but I'm going to find out." He carefully wiped the blood from his hand, and from where it had dripped on the pew. "I think I'll go visit Harry Dresden."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Michel Carpenter stopped his truck in front of the boarding house. He carefully made his way down the stairs to the basement apartment's warped metal door. Knocking, he called "Harry? It's Michel."

A few seconds later, the heavy door started moving with a painful groan. Once the opening was wide enough, a head popped out from behind it. "Hey Michel. Are you here to pick up Molly? I still had about an hour planned for this practice session."

Molly Carpenter, warlock and apprentice wizard was currently in Harry subbasement laboratory. As her teacher, he was having her practice different spells to locate items hidden around the lab.

"Actually, I came to see you."

Dresden opened the door the rest of the way and let his friend in. The wizard was tall, with messy dark hair. In the past, he had described himself as made of wire, but he had put on some muscle in recent years. Supernatural baddies didn't go down easy, so it was a good idea to be in shape if you were going to face them almost on a weekly basis the way Harry did.

As Michel came into the basement apartment, his eyes landed on two swords sitting on the mantelpiece. They were two of three holy swords, each having one of the nails from the true cross forged into them. One, Fidelacchius, the sword of Faith, had belonged to a wizened Asian man named Shiro, who had given his life to save Harry. Michel had wielded the second sword, Amoracchius, the sword of Love, for many years, until a semi-automatic had taken his out of the fight. Both swords now needed new masters, new knights of the cross. Like Merlin and Excalibur, the task of finding them fell to a wizard, namely, Harry Dresden.

"So what can I do for you?"

"I just met a young man. He was…troubling."

Harry sat on his sofa and invited his friend to take the mismatched love seat. "Troubling how?"

"When I shook his hand, I felt, the taint of some great evil. It might sound paranoid, but for a second there, I though he was the anti-Christ." His brow furrowed as he searched his memory for what, exactly, had triggered the feeling.

"The anti-Christ, as in, _the_ anti-Christ? Son of Satan anti-Christ?"

Michel shook his head. "Not the son of Satan the same way Jesus Christ is the son of God, more…a chosen. A human being reared from childhood to bring about the Apocalypse."

Harry threw his head back, hands on his face. "Hell's bells Michel, the Apocalypse? Didn't we just stop one of those?"

Several months before, a group of Fallen Angels, each one bound to one of thirty ancient silver coins, had tried to gain possession of the Archive, the worlds greatest magical repository of knowledge, who just happened to be housed in a little girl. Harry and his friends had stopped it, but it was the reason Michel had a cane in his hand instead of the sword.

Again, the former Knight shook his head. "Not the kind of Apocalypse the Denarians could cause. I'm talking about Lucifer rising from the pit and walking the earth."

The wizard looked at his friend wide eyed. "And I don't suppose it occurred to you to slug him in the back of the head and tie him up?" He might have suggested murder, but killing man in cold blood, even if it meant saving the world, was something he knew Michel would never consider. He kind of hated that he himself was capable of it.

"Harry, I met him at Ste-Mary's. He was praying."

That gave Dresden pause. "Okay, so he's a potential destroyer of worlds but he's truing to fight it," he eventually concluded. "Now what?"

Reaching into his pocket, Michel withdrew the bloody napkin and handed it to Harry.

"How'd you manage to get his blood?"

"He had three gashes on the inside of his forearm, deep enough to need stitches. He started bleeding at the church. He gave me the napkin to wipe my hand before he left."

"Which means he isn't concerned at all about leaving his blood lying around. Which means he's probably not a member of the magical community." Blood can be used for all sorts of things if you know the right spell. He took the napkin. "Lets see what we can do. Come on Grasshopper."

Molly Carpenter appeared by her father, where she'd been hiding under a magical veil. "How did you know this time?"

"You, little missy, have been known to eavesdrop. Your father showing up to talk shop isn't the kind of thing you'd ignore."

Molly was in her early twenties and tall, a trait she had inherited from her mother, along with her magical abilities. Her hair was nearly platinum blond, except for some of the tips dyed it a variety of pinks, blues, and purples. She had a few tattoos and just enough metal on her face to make her weary of high power magnets. She also had a body that, lets just say that on one wizardly outings that had evolved Molly getting drenched, Harry had ended up actually having to beat a boy back with a stick. She was highly sensitive to magical energies and good with spells that required finesse rather than brut strength – the latter was Harry's forte. She was also a terrible cook.

"Now come on. You get to try one of those spells on something outside the lab."

The three of them went down to the basement. Molly set up a magic circle on the small desk Harry had brought down there for her. She poured some of her will into the circle to activate it, and used the blood and a crystal on a silver chain to guide her to the mystery man. The crystal spun a bit, and then started glowing and emitting a high-pitched whine. Two seconds later, it exploded.

"What did I do?" screeched a panic and wide-eyed Molly from where she had ducked. Tiny shards of quarts littered the floor around them.

Harry inspected the damage then glared at the bloody napkin. He picked it up, moved to his own worktable, and set up a new circle, only he used a shoestring instead of a crystal. Just like with Molly's location spell, the string made a few lazy movements. Then it started smoking. Harry broke the circle and dropped the smouldering shoestring before it could catch on fire.

"Woh," commented Molly. "Does that happen a lot?"

Harry just starred at the blackened shoestring. "Bob!" he shouted.

"Yeah boss?" Orange lights lit up in the scull sitting on one of the shelves. Said scull was inhabited by a spirit of knowledge, a.k.a. Bob the Scull. Technology and wizards don't get along, which makes it hard to do any internet research, so instead of a computer, Harry had Bob.

"Bob, what do you know that can make a location spell blow up?" The lights in the scull's eye sockets dimmed for a second as Bob tough about it. "Two possibilities. One, the person you're trying to find is under some heavy duty protection."

"But hex bags and veils would only make the spell fail, not catch on fire."

"Hence the words _heavy duty_. We're talking about interference from some of the higher ups from the NeverNever. The high sidhe, angels -"

"Satan?" Harry suggested.

Bob barked a laugh. "Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen. First, they'd have to let Lilith out, then break sixty-six angelic seals. The only way that'd happen is if the angels put out an invitation and hand the key to earth to the devil."

"Right, so what's option number two?"

"That the thing you're using for the spell, blood in this case, has been influenced or tainted by said higher ups."

"So whoever this kid is, he's got some pretty heavy hitters watching out for him."

"If magic doesn't work, how are we going to find him?" asked Molly.

Harry looked at the diner's name printed on the napkin. "Time for some good old detective work."

By the time Sam made it back to the motel, both his coat sleeve and his shirt, where he had pressed his wounded arm against his abdomen, were dripping red. He tried to keep blood from ending up all over the car seat as he got out, and hurried to the room.

"Hey Sam," said Dean from where he was sitting on his bed, a pile of cushions behind his back and the laptop on his legs. "Sam?" Seeing his brother rush to the bathroom, he put the laptop aside and got up. "Ow, stupid vamps. Sam, you okay?"

There was blood and bandages all over the en suit's small countertop. Sam hissed as he cleaned the wound.

"Shit Sammy, what happened?"

"It's fine, just some torn stitches."

"You did do kind of a rush job last night. And stitching up you're right arm isn't exactly obvious." He made a scooting motion, directing Sam to sit on the toilet. "Let your older, wiser brother do it this time."

Sam looked like he was going to disagree for a second, but thought better of it. "Yeah, sure, okay."

Sam had been listening a lot more since the whole Lilith think, probably to make up for all the not-listening he'd been doing before. It's not that Dean minded getting a little more respect, but it was a little too much as if all the fight had left his kid brother. But then, being tricked into unleashing the king of hell onto the human world could do that to a guy.

"You'll never guess what I found in the phone book," Dean started, trying to liven up the room as he washed his hands and Sam finished disinfecting the cuts.

"What were you looking for?"

"Pizza. I was hungry and wanted to find a place that delivered."

"It's ten in the morning."

"Dude, stop interrupting. And you've been in small town USA to long. This is Chicago. I could probably get a pizza at three AM. Anyway, I find this takeout menu tucked into the yellow pages." He turned off the faucet with his elbow, wiped his hands on sterile gauze, and got a clean needle from the extensive Winchester first-aid kit. "Only, someone must have used it as a bookmark or something, 'cause there was an ad circled on that page. He brought the skin on either side of the deepest cut together and made the first suture.

"What was it?"

Dean held out a hand in annoyance. "Trying to build up a little suspense here."

"Sorry."

"So the ad says, lost items found, paranormal investigations, consulting, advice." He made another careful suture.

"Paranormal investigations? A hunter?"

"Nuh uh." Dean shook his head, mouth split in a big grin. "Calls himself a wizard. Can you believe this nut job? The ad also says no endless purses, love potions or parties. And guess what this guy's name is. Harry."

"What, like Harry Potter?"

"Dresden actually, but still." He finishes a last stitch. "Too bad about the purses and potions, I could have used some of those, well, the endless purse anyway, you could have had the love potion."

They both cringe remembering what happened the last time Sam got close to a woman, or last times, plural, when you think about it.

"Okay, maybe not," rallied Dean. "But endless purses…"

"As opposed to fake credit cards?" suggests Sam, a small smile on his face, recognizing his brother's effort for what it was.

"Anyway, with the amount of blood you just spilled here, I think we're definitely going to need that pizza."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Harry went into the diner. It was the fourth one of the same name he'd found listed in the Chicago area. After the third, he'd used a tracking spell on a clean bit of the napkin itself. Happily, this one had not blown up. So here he was, in the napkin's home. He went up to the counter, ordered a coffee, and asked if anyone had seen his "cousin". Tall guy, mid-twenties, longish dark brown hair?

The cashier shook her head apologetically but directed him to Mister McGregor. "He's practically here twenty-four seven," she said, pointing to a man in his early seventies who obviously made a sport of people watching. He was sitting on a stool in a corner of the dinning room, leaning against the counter so he could have a good view of the door. After the cashier pointed towards him, the old man waved Harry over with a big smile, only too happy to talk to someone new.

Harry gave him the same description.

"Looked like he'd just been in a fight?" asked the old man.

"Yeah, he had a cut on his arm."

McGregor nodded. "I guess you're the one who tries to keep him out of trouble huh?"

"Well…" Harry trailed off. He's found it's a lot easier to let people fill in the blank than risk getting caught up in lies.

"Yeah, I had a little brother like that too. Your cousin was in here around, what was it, one AM? Looked pretty battered, but still standing. Ordered food to go. Two big bags and a coffee. Didn't looked like he'd been sleeping much, tell you the truth."

"Did you see which way his car went? It's an old black Chevy."

"Nah, he was on foot. Can't have been staying real far."

"Thanks. Can I buy you a coffee? asked Harry, putting a five down on the counter.

"Now that wasn't necessary, but I'll take it anyways. But ah…" he tries as Harry got up to leave. "Don't wear yourself out. Sometimes they just don't want your help."

"I'll remember that."

On foot is good news. Harry was having trouble starting the Blue Beatle, his now multi coloured patchwork of a car. Over the years, the Blue Beatle had been attacked by so many monsters it had had most of its parts replaced and was only still running because Harry had the car whisperer for a mechanic.

Harry picked up one of the maps of local businesses left by the door then went back to his car to grab his wizardly essentials. This included a wooden staff about the size of a quarterstaff and heavily carved with runes and other symbols, his blasting rod, a stick about two feet long which he used as a focus when summoning fire, and a .44 handgun. It's amazing what kind of damage a small chunk of metal can do if it's going fast enough. He was already wearing a black leather duster in which he had woven spells that made it, rather sensibly, bullet proof.

Quickly scanning the map and locating a likely motel, he put his game face on and headed west. After going through the whole parking lot and checking with the manager, Harry found another likely motel and headed west a little more.

And there it was, a boat on wheels, big, black and Chevrolet, with a sprinkling of explosive-possibly-demon-blood on the side.

Harry, big, bad wizard that he was did _not_ bust the door down and storm in. He'd done it in the past, but he'd been young and stupid at the time, not to mention that the above mentioned theatrics had been designed to strike fear in the hearts of plain vanilla mortals, not exploding-blood-possibly-demons.

The blinds were drawn, so Harry leaned against the window and Listened. Listening wasn't a particularly magical ability, just one that he had developed over the years. Mostly, it involved shutting out all the distractions and putting all one's attention on a particular source of sound.

…_to come through here. A club called the Velvet Room –"_

_The Velvet Room? Seriously?"_

So there were at least two of them.

_"Yeah, and it got torched. Someone burned it to the ground. And get this, the ME that did the autopsies was sent for a psych evaluation after reporting that some of the bodies, while humanoid, were definitely not human."_

_"So this place was a nest."_

_"Looks like. Think this ME might know something about the nest we're looking for?"_

_"Maybe, or maybe the shrinks convinced his he really was delusional, in which case, he'll probably sick security on our asses."_

_"So we don't go in as FBI or homeland security. CDC? Say we're looking into mutations? Make it sound medical instead of supernatural."_

_"That could fly. Now all we have to do is find out his shift so we don't have to go through a bunch of coworkers._

_"He's on this afternoon." _Harry could hear the cocky smile from outside.

_"How did you –_

_"Hacked their mainframe."_

_"Hey Sammy! The research monkey is back. No offence, but it's nice to be working a case without your demon mojo."_

_"Yeah well, it's not like we have a whole lot of choice."_

Michel had said the kid had three cuts in his arm, almost like claw marks, the wizard mussed. They were going after red court vampires, and from the sound of it, it wasn't the first time either. What the wizard wanted to know was what exactly demon mojo meant? He'd had the shadow of a Fallen Angel living in his head for a while a few years back. It had allowed him to draw on Hell Fire and occasionally helped out, giving his information, but the ultimate goal had been to convince him to let her in all the way. Did Sam the Mystery Man have the same thing?

One of the men went by the window, unintentionally twitching the curtain open a crack. Harry peeked inside.

Sam was sitting at the room's almost-table with a laptop glowing in front of him, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Harry could easily see the fresh bandage on his right forearm. The other guy was tall too, maybe an inch shorter than Harry. In honour of that, the wizard baptised him Shorty. Shorty's had short cropped hair and no easily visible battle damage. When he sat back on the bed with a groan, Harry realised there _was _damage after all, and winced in sympathy; busted ribs were no fun. These two didn't look particularly supernatural, and just the fact that a laptop was functioning within a few feet of them told Dresden that they weren't wizards, but appearances could be fatally deceiving. He decided to take a chance.

There is such a thing as wizard's sight, the third eye one might say; it allowed wizards to see beyond your everyday reality to the very essence of the world, in all its beauty and gruesomeness. But there's a problem with wizard's sight, and that is that once you've seen something with it, you can never forget it, it will always be fresh in your mind as if it had just happened. Accumulate too many memories like that, even if they're pleasant, and anyone would eventually go crazy. For that reason, most wizards use their Sight only sparingly.

Carefully peering through the window, Harry opened his Sight.

"Gahh." He stumbled backwards, hands over his eyes. It took him a second to remember that his physical eyes weren't the problem and he closed his Sight. What he'd seen had been nearly blinding, and it would remained burned into his mind for the rest of his life. Harry fought his way through several ragged breaths. He needed someplace dark and quiet to sort out what he'd just Seen. And he had to warn Butters – the little polka loving ME was a friend of his – that these, whatever-they-were, were heading his way.

The wizard made it back to his car, then to the coroner's office. He was not entirely sure how he managed to find either; his vision kept blinking in and out on him. It occurred to him that he probably shouldn't have been driving, but by then he was already in Butters' lab, babbling about darkness and being blinded and "trouble's coming."

He had the feeling that he had left out something important, but couldn't, for the life of him remember what. As he crawled into the dark and quiet space Butters' had provided, he just hoped it would come back to him before becoming an issue.

He lay back, closed his eyes, and started meditating trying to make sense of what he'd Seen. The closest one to the window had been Shorty. In his mind's eye, he could still see the man. His skin had a silver glow to it that Harry recognized as Soul Fire, a kind of frame around which magic could be wrapped to produce constructs. The wizard had used Soul Fire only once and just for a few minutes, but it had consumed enough of his soul for it to take nearly a week to grow back fully. Making an entire and persistent human body out of it would require huge amounts of soul energy, the kind only angels had access to. Which meant that Shorty was either an angel who had constructed a body for itself, or some random guy who was being kept alive by angels. There was always the possibility that a strong enough dark wizard had grabbed an angel's soul and used it for himself, but Harry didn't think so; there had been too much light. That's what had nearly blinded him. It was as if the shadow of another person was following Shorty around, only this shadow was made up of the light of a ten thousand megawatt bulb. Out of respect for that, Harry decided to rename the guy Sparky; it fit better anyways. With one mystery, well, made a little more mysterious, but with more information, it was time to move on the second half of the equation, Sam. There was definitely a taint to Sam. Sure he'd looked human enough, even with the Sight, if you ignored the pitch black eyes, but there had been more. Harry wasn't sure how to define it. It was like an acrid sent in the air, and a sense of …attention. Something nasty was very interested indeed in young Sam. The worst thing was that this _essence_ looked broken in, as if the man had carried it around his entire life.

_Human_ Harry eventually decided, but under the influence of some major players, one from heaven and one from hell. It was amazing the Sam and Sparky weren't at each other's throats with backseat drivers like that hanging around.

Not long after Harry had made it to the coroner's office, two men in business suits, claiming to be with the Center for Disease Control, showed up asking to speak to Dr Butters.

"Sure, second door to your left, follow the polka music," answered the guard after checking their IDs.

"Polka?" Dean whispered to his brother as they went in. Sam just shrugged.

As it turned out, there was no polka music. They found Butters quietly going over paperwork.

"Doctor Butters?" asked Sam. "My name is Sam Johnson; this is my partner Dean Colt. We're from the CDC. We wanted to speak with you about one of your reports."

"Really?" The little man hurried around his desk and held out a hand to be shaken. "Erm…What about exactly?"

Sam opened a file. "You did autopsies for the victims of the Velvet Room fire several years ago."

"Oh, that." The ME took a step back and visibly curled in on himself. "I was under a lot of stress at the time and made a mistake," he tried to explain.

"Actually," continued Sam. "We don't think you did. We've encountered what you described and we believe it's some kind of mutation."

"You…believe me?" He backed away a little more.

"Hey," said Dean. "Just because no one's ever seen it before doesn't mean it's not real."

"We were hoping to determine if this is a genetic mutation or a contagion. Any information you have about this, any intuition or educated guess that might help us find the source would be great."

"You want to go after them?" Butters was starting to sound agitated.

On a hunch, Sam took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Three fine, dotted lines of blood were visible on his new bandage. Butters tensed up so much that a shove could have snapped him in two.

"It didn't bite you did it?" he said before catching himself. "That is, if the mutation is contagious, there's a high chance it could be transmitted saliva to blood or blood to blood."

"Like a vampire?" asked Dean, cocky grin spread over his face.

"Of…of course not, there's no such thing." The man had blanched considerably.

"Really? 'Cause that thing looked a hell of a lot like a vampire when we cut its head off."

Butters voice went flat. "You're not from the CDC."


	4. Chapter 4

For those who wanted more :)

Chapter 4

Harry was just coming out of his meditation when he heard voices outside of his little cocoon of darkness. That's when he picked up the fear in his friend's voice. _"You're not from the CDC."_

Dean started to answer when a frantic scrambling noise came from one of the body lockers.

Butters immediately opened the door and pulled out the trey, letting a flailing man out.

Sam drew his gun while Dean went for the silver knife strapped to his ankle.

"Zombies now? Seriously?" barked the elder Winchester.

Harry Dresden, who, up to about thirty seconds before, had found the body locker to be a cramped but adequate place for his meditation, managed to put his feet fully under him and face Sparky and Sam the Mystery Man.

"Look who's talking."

Harry had left his duster and blasting rod with his staff in the far corner of the room. His shield bracelet and kinetic rings would have to do. He had just enough time to curse himself for forgetting that he had come to the coroner's to warn Butters about these two in the first place, when Sam reached out to pull the ME behind him.

Butters was looking around frantically. "Where? What zombies?" To say that his last encounter with zombies had been unpleasant was an understatement; it had been so far from pleasant that you couldn't have seen it with a high powered telescope.

Feeling a pang of sympathy for his friend, Harry informed his: "He means me. Though, I'm a wizard actually."

Butters relaxed, which made Sam frown.

"Dean, give me your knife." The brothers quickly traded weapons. "Stick out your hand." He ordered the wizard.

"Sorry, I don't feel like dancing."

"Do it or I will blow your head off," Dean ordered, keeping his voice low. No need to tip off the guard stationed down the corridor.

Harry calculated his chances of setting off one of his force rings or activating his shield bracelet before Sparky could make good his treat. The man looked like he knew how to handle the weapon. Harry decided the odds of his survival went up if he submitted to the request. He extended his right hand. He'd worn a glove on the left one since it had been badly burnt in a fight with Black court vampires.

Sam pushed the wizard's sleeve up – Harry tensed at the contact – and nicked the skin. A few drops of red blood came out.

"No reaction. He's not a zombie or shape shifter."

Dean lowered the gun a fraction. "Then what the hell were you doing in there?"

"I needed a nap."

"A nap! You got to be kidding me."

Sensing the tension dissipate considerably, Butters managed to unfreeze and got a first aid kit to disinfecting his friend's cut.

"Harry?" he asked, the word striving to encompass the entire situation, as well as Harry's well being, and tack a question mark at the end.

"Harry? As in Dresden? The guy from the yellow pages?

"The one and only" He grinned, deciding these guys probably weren't out to unleash hell on earth. Heck, Demon Boy tried to protect Butters from the nasty zombie. However, he did want to check one more thing before letting these two loose in his city.

Sam handed the silver knife back to his brother. Dean hesitated a bit before returning the gun.

"So, wizard huh?"

Still smiling, and now free of the ME's ministrations, Harry threw out a hand, called "Vento servitas!" and his staff came flying into his grasp.

Dean eyebrows rose in appreciation. "Okay, wizard."

Harry and the two hunters gathered around an empty metal gurney. Sam and Dean were there for information and the wizard was happy to oblige if it meant clearing a few vampires out of his neighbourhood. He gave the brothers a run down of the three vampire courts he was familiar with: the Red Court, which feeds on blood, the White Court, which goes for emotions, and the Bram Stoker-esk Black Court. Unfortunately, Harry himself couldn't get involved. Wizards and the Red Court were at war and currently enjoying a much-needed cease-fire. If he joined the two hunters, he explained, the Reds could use it as an excuse to resume open hostilities. "There are a few people in Chicago who could help, but I can't just go up and introduce you. That's a little too obvious."

"Sure, we understand," said Sam, who did. "We're probably going to spend the rest of the day getting supplies ready and narrowing down out search radius. We'll start actually checking the area sometime tomorrow morning." He slid a card with their cell phone numbers across the gurney. It mysteriously disappeared into Harry's pocket.

"Sorry I can't do much. But if you need help with anything else, just give me a call. I'm in the phonebook." Harry put a congenial hand on Sam's shoulder. "Mind if we have a word." He pulled him aside, still in full view of Dean and Butters.

"What is it?"

"As far as I can tell, you're human," he said quietly. Sam watched Harry with narrowed eyes, his guard up once more. "And given who and what I've worked with in the past, that weirdo demonic taint of yours barely makes you stand out, but, call me paranoid, I like to know who I'm working with, and especially who I might ask my friends to work with."

"Look, I don't…"

"You don't have to explain anything, just look at me."

It's called a soul gaze. Whenever a wizard looks someone in the eyes for the first time, they can see into that person's soul. In return, that person can see into the wizard's soul. Nothing comes closer to giving the true measure of a person.

Sam felt the strange pull and tried to look away, but Harry held his gaze.

From the outside, it only lasted a few seconds, but from Harry and Sam's point of view, it was longer.

Sam caught a glimpse of the wizard summoning fire in the heat of battle and got a sense of the ocean of magic at the man's disposal, magic that Harry considered as a source of life and creation. He saw Lash, the shadow of a Fallen Angel that had once dwelled in Harry's brain and, over time, had become a sort of friend. He saw Justin DuMorne, the man Harry had killed in self-defence as a teenager, nearly earning himself a death sentence because he had done it with magic. He saw He Who Walks Behind, as creature DuMorne had sent to murder his young apprentice. He saw the Denarian Nicodemus and felt the sheer terror he inspired in Harry. He saw things that would make some people want to curl up and die. And he saw what made the wizard fight anyway. There was a brother, friends, the memory of parents, and the faceless masses of all humanity; everything that held him together, everything he wanted, _needed _to protect. There was love and fear and anger, and all of it was fierce.

Then there was another presence.

From his side, Harry saw Sam, eyes black as tar, facing a blond woman, just as he was about to kill the demon possessing her, opening the gate of Hell itself. With a shudder, the wizard realised that this was a memory; it had already happened.

The scene stood frozen in time. This was how Sam defined himself. As he walked around the scene, Harry noticed something he hadn't seen before. Sam was bleeding, from everywhere. Somehow, the blood was both on him and under the surface at the same time. He reached out to touch one of the largest wounds, a gash that went all the way across the younger man's abdomen. There was a scream and a woman Sam had loved burned on the ceiling of their apartment. Harry drew back, and then went for the deep claw marks in the kid's chest; it looked like a wild animal had gone after his heart. These gashes carried another scene of death, Sparky's. Sam was leaning over his brother, calling his name as Dean's eyes went dead.

The chest and abdomen wounds were the worst ones Harry could see, but there were a myriad of smaller cuts along Sam's limbs. The wizard ran a hand over those on the closest arm. These didn't come with images but with words, each one a verbal assault.

_You walk out that door, don't you ever come back._

_The boy with the demon blood _

_You're not going and that's final_

_The moment you become more trouble than your worth, I'll turn you to dust_

_Am I supposed to go Darkside?_

_It means you're a monster_

_Vampire_

_You had it in you the whole time _

_You have to stop me_

_Freak_

_You used to have my back_

_Dean's going to hell and there's nothing you can do about it_

_Hail the boy king_

_He'll reward you beyond your wildest dreams_

Somehow, under all of this, there was another voice, made up of equal parts despair and resolve. _I have to stop it I have to stop itIhavetostopitIhavetostopitIhavetostopit I have to save them I have to save Dean I have to save everyone…_

"What are you doing?"

Harry nearly missed it in the cacophony. He spun around to see a man in a tan trench coat standing practically in his face. "Sam Winchester is none of your concern."

"It's my concern if he's going to destroy the world," he challenged the newcomer.

Castiel looked at Sam sorrowfully. "Too late." He pressed two fingers to Harry's forehead.

For a second, Harry didn't know where he was, until the morgue reasserted itself. Not much to his surprise, that setting was a lot more comfortable than Sam Winchester's mind.

Sam was holding himself up against the wall, panting.

"What the hell you doing to my brother?" came Dean's furious voice before he grabbed the wizard by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

"Dean. Dean, I'm okay. I'm okay, just let him go."

"He puts some kind of whammy on you and I'm supposed to let him go?"

"Yeah Dean, you are. I know we haven't been big on the trust thing lately, but trust me on this. He's a good guy."

Dean flung his arms out. "We're gonna talk about this Sammy," he warned before backing away.

"Kid," Dresden blew out through his nose. "Do me a favour. It you ever see an ancient roman silver coin lying around, don't pick it up." God help them if the power and drive that resided in Sam Winchester ever fell under the influence of a Fallen Angel.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for reading, and a particular thanks to those who reviewed.

Chapter 5

Dean was startled awake but a knock at the motel door. He checked the clock. Seven am was way too early for the maid to be coming by. He was gratified to see Sam already up and reaching for his gun. The kid was still on the ball.

Hair mussed, bleary eyed, wearing yesterday's jeans and a rumpled t-shirt and with a revolver held discreetly in his right hand, he opened the door.

There was a woman on the other side. She was petite, with shoulder length blond hair and a body that suggested she worked out. Not Miss Universe worked out, but she could kick ass without breaking a sweat worked out. Dean liked. Something in the set of her jaw made him refrain from comment.

A man was standing next to her. He was a bit taller, balding and comfortably overweight, but still active looking. He was holding a takeout bag and a drink tray containing two large cardboard cups, along with a small pile of cream and sugar containers. Once he got passed those two, Dean noticed three more people, two men and one woman, loitering in the parking lot. Two were leaning against a blue Sedan and the third was checking out the Impala.

"You Sam and Dean?" asked the blond.

The light bulb finally went off. "Dresden send you?"

The corners of her lips twitched. "Don't be an idiot. He's got some kind of treaty to respect. Butters gave me a call. Though Harry might have mentioned were you were staying. I'm Karrin Murphy. This is Rawlins. Back there are Phil, Hernandes and Miller. We hear you've got a vampire problem." She held up an honest to goodness flamethrower.

Dean stared at it, goofy grin on his face. "I think I'm in love."

The previous night's work had narrowed the search area to just under a dozen buildings. The brothers and the five newcomers Dean dubbed "The Chicago Hunters" had divided the map in three sections. Each area was the responsibility of one of the three two or three person teams. Whoever found the nest would contact Murphy, who would call everybody else. The plan was to get everyone together before engaging the vampires, but all the hunters went in armed right off the bat, also, the teams would move parallel to each other so they were always as close as possible to one another.

When the brothers popped the hood of the Impala and opened the false bottom to reach the armoury hidden there, Murphy and Rawlins wandered over to have a look. Rawlins gave an appreciative whistle. Murphy indicated the variety of firearms with a loose wave of the hand and commented, "I assume you have permits for those?"

"You a cop now Murphy?" Dean's smirk died when it came face to face with two stern expressions.

"That's Sergeant Murphy to you punk."

Sam leaned over and said, "Yes, we have permits," which was a total fabrication, but he said it with a put upon manner that, nevertheless, suggested it was the truth. Dean hadn't much appreciated his brother's dishonesty of late, but he had to admit that there were uses to the kid's ability to lie with a perfectly straight face.

"What's the matter Dean. You on the wrong side of the law?" asked an amused Rawlins.

"Ah, well," he fidgeted. "With what we do, we might have gotten into trouble for breaking and entering, killing things and burning…stuff."

Murphy huffed. "You and Dresden both. I've lost count of how many buildings he's set on fire. Can we get this show on the road already?"

Harry had mentioned that items of faith, whichever faith, so long as the holder believed, weakened these vampires, so Sam had wrapped a rosary around his wrist. He also stuffed a bottle of hairspray and a lighter in his pockets en lieu of an actual flamethrower (the police officers carried their gear in backpacks) and hid a machete under his coat. The brothers had come to the unspoken agreement that Dean was now custodian of Ruby's demon killing knife, so he grabbed that along with the machete and faux flamethrower, but eschewed the rosary - like he was going to believe in anything after the shit a bunch of angels had pulled on them.

Sam and Dean were only at their second building when the older hunter's phone vibrated. It was Murphy. She sounded like she was running.

"Building 317. Phil's group found the nest. The Reds spotted them. Get down there NOW."

The Winchesters were closer and made it there first. Five vampires had cornered the officers. The one Dean recognized as Phil was clutching a bloody shoulder, torn muscle showing, with his buddies at his side. The girl cop was holding the Reds at bay with a crucifix shining bright like the sun.

Sam went in swinging, going for the closest vampire. The others, alerted to the hunters' presence, turned to the new target.

"Hernanes, get him out of here," ordered Miller, the third cop.

"Got it." The woman, still behind the shelter of her faith, grabbed Phil's sound arm and they skedaddled.

Sam had taken the first monster's arm clean off, but the thing was still coming. Dean got between them and slashed its throat with the knife. The vampire's insides flashed bright yellow before it fell to the floor, dead. Unfortunately, the move had left Dean exposed to the first vampire's enraged mate. He tried to get out of the way, but stumbled and fell. A pained gasp escaped him as the fall jarred his damaged ribs.

A shot rang out, forcing the mate back a step, giving Sam enough time to light his makeshift flamethrower. He swung it in a wide arc, forcing the bat-like things back. The flame hit one in the face and it shrieked in pain.

Miller used the opening to join the hunters. He tried to light his own flamethrower, but hadn't managed it by the time Sam's hairspray ran out. The four remaining vampires, their false skins long gone, advanced as one on the intruders.

"Crap!"

Two of them went for Dean, ripping the knife out of his hand.

"Dean!" The rosary on Sam's wrist flared to life.

Dean grabbed a short sword that must have belonged to one of the cops, and stabbed the nearest vamp in the belly. All the blood it had ingested came gushing out, causing it to falter. The hunter dispatched it immediately.

"Miller, catch."

Murphy had got hold of Dean's knife and thrown it to the other cop. She and Rawlins entered the fray, foot long tongues of fire preceding them.

The biggest Red charged Murphy, batting the flamethrower away. Before its fangs could reach he throat, it let out an agonizing screech and spun to face its new attacker, crashing to the ground in the process. Dean had just severed one of its Achilles tendons.

Miller and Sam, with his still shining rosary, tag teamed another vampire while Rawlins barbequed the third.

Two minutes later, the fight was over.

Dean held a hand over his mouth, cringing away from the smell of vampire flambé. "Nice entrance," he commented. "Phil and Hernanes make it out all right?"

It was Rawlins who answered. "They're waiting for the ambulance. Phil's going to be riding a desk for a while, but he was still standing when we went by.

Murphy watched the bonfire with arms crossed over her chest, her expression somewhere between righteous fury and satisfaction. She looked at Dean, covered in semi-digested blood, and Sam as they sorted out the scattered weapons. "I thing you two have earned one of Mac's microbrews."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Winchesters went back to their motel room to shower and change, where Murphy would meet up with them later. Sam was just coming out of the shower when Dean suggested it might be better to skip on the free beer and just get the hell out of Dodge, preferably before the sergeant saw the warrants with their names and brought all of Chicago PD down on their heads.

"I don't know Dean, she seemed pretty all right with the whole hunting thing. What if she was the one Castiel sent us here for?"

"She's all right with it provided our weapons are registered. What happens when she finds out we're not only presumed dead but wanted for murder?"

The point was made moot as Karrin Murphy pulled into the parking lot. Alone.

As soon as Dean opened the door for her, she told him to get in his car and follow her. She led them through the streets at a pace the elder Winchester could admire. Outside of his dad and a few other hunters, he'd rarely see anyone negotiate traffic with that kind of skill. Too bad she was a cop, otherwise, he might actually _have_ fallen in love. Dean was barely keeping pace and Sam was holding on to the dashboard for dear life.

The high-speed chase ended in a little alley. Murphy directed the brothers to a barely advertised pub called MacAnally's. Anyone who didn't know it was there would never have found it. There was a brass plaque besides the door declaring the place neutral ground.

"Neutral ground?" asked Sam, who always spotted these kinds of things. He had to duck under the ceiling fans that spun lazily overhead.

"Unseelie accord," provided Murphy. "The signatories aren't allowed to initiate hostilities here. That way they have a place to talk without having to watch their backs all the time. That's the theory at least." She got the bartender's attention and held up three fingers. The man nodded his understanding.

The small group settled around a four-seated table.

"I'm paying for the beer, that's it. You want steak it's on your dime."

"Is it any good?"

She smiled just a little. "You ever died and gone to food heaven?"

Dean's expression suggested he'd just swallowed a lemon. Then he shook himself and went over to the bar. "Could I get three steaks for the table over there?"

The other man just grunted in reply.

"Chatty."

"What's with there being thirteen of everything?" Sam was asking as he got back. There were indeed thirteen tables, thirteen stools at the bar, and thirteen columns – carved in bas-relief of various fairytale scenes, which was interesting in itself – scattered around the pub.

"Something about dispelling magical energy. This place has kind of a specialised clientele, as you might notice.

Hearing that, the hunters became that much more wary of their surroundings. It wouldn't do to be off guard in a place full of supernatural being. Not that pub was full. It was only half past ten in the morning and the usual crowd was still hours away.

The Winchesters nearly jumped when the bartender appeared soundlessly, delivering their beers, and both turned when the door swung open.

"Harry," greeted Murphy, smiling at the newcomer.

"Hey Murph, fancy meeting you here."

"In a totally coincidental, not planned at all sort of way," added Dean.

Harry's eyes twinkled with mirth as he joined them. He could like this guy. "Exactly."

"So, Dresden," Dean took a sip of his beer, and forgot what he was about to say. "This beer is awesome."

Tasting it, Sam couldn't help but agree.

Harry briefly entertained the idea of making a crack about Mac brewing the best forgetfulness potion in town, but decided it might distract from the serious business he had come to discuss. "Sam," he started. "When I looked in your mind, I saw a memory –

"Yeah, Lilith." The younger man suddenly found his drink very interesting.

"Wait, you saw that?"

"Sure. Isn't that how it works?"

"No. Usually, each person only sees one side, not both. I never know what people see in me."

Sam frowned – yet more proof that he was a freak – then a thought occurred to him. "Could it have something to do with Castiel showing up?"

"What the hell was Cas doing in your head? He's only ever pulled that crap on me."

His brother shrugged helplessly. "I guess we'll have to ask him next time he comes by."

"So Trench Coat Guy's name is Castiel? I've never heard of anything that could interrupt a soul gaze. How did he do it?"

"He's an angel."

"And you see him regularly? I've got a friend who would probably love to meet him."

"Sorry, Cas doesn't really do social calls. But I'm guessing you're more interested in who else is coming to diner." For some reason Dean didn't understand, Sam flinched at the words.

"What you saw," the younger brother picks up the story, "was the breaking of the last seal that had kept Lucifer in Hell. We don't know where he is now, but he's definitely out."

"Seal?" asked Murphy. "Care to fill in the people without magic handbooks?"

"The only way Lucifer could get loose is if sixty-six of the six hundred seal that kept him in were broken. The first one broke when a righteous man spilled blood in Hell, when he broke and started torturing other souls."

Sam turned to face his brother, brow creased in worry. "You never told me that."

"Yeah well, maybe I should have." They'd have to talk about that one later, but not now. Besides, the other two were starting to look uncomfortable intruding on what was clearly a personal discussion.

"I talked to…a friend on mine about that," said Harry when he felt it was safe to move on. "He said there's no way they angels would allow the seals to be broken."

"The ones on the ground wouldn't, but the generals somehow got it into their heads that if they set Lucifer loose, they could get rid of him for good, damn the consequences." With each word, Dean's voice went up in volume.

His brother put a hand on his shoulder and physically pressed him back into the chair, glancing significantly at the rest of the pub.

"Heaven and Hell going at it on earth," said Harry, trying to wrap his mind around what could well be the climax of the horror show that was his life. "That's…that's…"

"The Apocalypse," Dean provided for him. "The whole thing was being orchestrated by a demon named Lilith, or so we though. We figured, kill Lilith, no more Apocalypse. The angels didn't bother letting us know what was really going on."

"Lilith was the last seal." Sam's face had gone dark, jaw clenched and eyes hard.

"And you killed her," Dresden finished. He ran a hand through his hair. "Hell's Bells, and I thought my life was messed up. I only got manipulated into kick-starting a war." He brightened up. "Hey, we should start a club." The attempt at levity fell flat. The wizard waited in case a cricket had been hoping for just such an awkward silence to get its big break. When none came forward, he cleared his throat and ploughed on. "Anyway to put the Jack back in the box?"

"We don't know. The angels think we, well, I, can kill him."

"How?"

"We don't know."

"What kind of fallout should we be expecting?"

"We don't know."

Dresden stared. "At least we're clear on the important points."

They had moved on to time lines and unrest in the fairy courts, and how maybe it was all connected, when the food came. Dean took one bite and decided that, if heaven's cheeseburgers were anything like Mac's steaks, he was sorry Castiel hadn't waited a few seconds more before springing him from the Green Room.

They exchanged phone numbers and parted with a promise to share any relevant information.

***

Harry Dresden went down the steps to his subbasement lab. "Hey Bob," he called, raping his knuckles on the scull. "You know that thing you said about Lucifer nerve getting out? Guess what."


	7. Chapter 7

That the last bit folks. I hope you enjoyed the story. I'll be back when inspiration strikes next. ;)

**

The next morning, Dean was finishing his packing while Sam was getting breakfast. He picked up the jeans he'd worn for the previous day's hunt and wondered if it they worth putting it through a laundry cycle. Did vampire blood come out?

The shirt had taken the worst of it, but the jeans ended up following them in the bin anyway. Salting and burning the things might even have occurred to him if Castiel hadn't popped up beside him.

"What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?"

"I didn't mean to startle you." The angel's voice held no notable remorse, or notable anything, really.

"While we're on the subject of invading privacy; were you in Sam's head yesterday?"

"I sensed a foreign presence in his mind. It seemed unwise to allow your brother to fall under another's influence."

"Is that what the wizard was doing? Trying to influence Sam?"

"I don't believe so, but at the time, I thought it best not to take the chance."

"How'd you even know he was in there? How close a tab on us are you keeping?"

Castiel carried on as if he hadn't heard the question, or, more likely, as if he didn't consider it important enough to answer. "Did you get the sword?"

"What sword?"

Castiel tilted his head slightly, murmured, "I was mistaken," then vanished.

"Cas!" Dean shouted skyward. "What sword?"

**

Michel Carpenter was working on a jewellery box for his youngest daughter when he heard the flutter of wings. He turned to great what was undoubtedly an angel.

Castiel inclined his head in respect. The man had earned it. Not many would serve the Lord as faithfully as the former knight of the cross had done, and still did, if in a different manner.

"I was sorry to hear about your injuries."

Michel shrugged. "God spared my life and returned me to my family."

The angel's eye alighted on the cane leaning against the workbench. "The price was high."

"Maybe so, but it was never my place to question His wisdom."

After a prolonged silence, Castiel admitted, "I sent a man your way. I thought he might become the new custodian of Amoracchius."

"Really? I thought the sword of Faith was more fitting for Sam."

"Sam?" The angel repeated, surprised.

Michel nodded. "The man who came to Sainte-Mary's praying for redemption. It might not have been his real name."

Amazingly, the angel took half a step back, as if the ground under his feet wasn't quite as firm as it had been. "I send Dean, Sam's brother. I never saw Sam as a possible knight of the cross."

"You would know better than I would," the carpenter conceded easily.

"No. Many of us have not heard word from our Father in a long time. Our superiors deceived us. I try to do His will, but I'm not sure I know what it is anymore." He turned to Michel, a desperate plea written in his features. "Our Father speaks to you. Tell me what I should do?"

Turning his face to heaven, Michel sent up a prayer, hoping, for the angel's sake, that God would answer. "He says to continue to do His will. He guides your steps even when you can't see it."

"Thank you."

When Michel heard Harry' beat up Volkswagen Beetle pull up, the angel was gone.

**

Sergeant Karrin Murphy sat in front of her computer. She wanted to know more about their new friends. Harry had referred to Sam as Winchester during their lunch so she tried the name in the police database. Dean had mentioned having something of a rap sheet after all. When she found the brothers' files, her eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed. Dresden was going to hear about this.

The end


	8. sequel teaser

This is for those of you who put up a story alert. More of this in Looking for the Devil, sequel to Allies.

Thanks for sticking with me and motivating me to write more.

_Dean slammed the large tome shut and pushed it aside. Wordlessly, Sam picked up another one from the pile on the table and placed it in front of his brother._

"_We've been at this for two days Sam, not to mention going through Bobby's entire collection. So far, all I've got is we should look out for a guy with a scythe riding a pale horse. What makes you think we're going to find anything here?"_

_The two hunters were in Chicago for the second time in as many months. Their friend Bobby Singer had convinced one of his contacts to open his library of occult books to the Winchesters. With little reliable intel from the angels and a ticking Hell bomb somewhere out there, they were getting desperate for a way to destroy Lucifer. Having been tricked into letting the devil out of his cage, Sam refused to rest until he'd fixed his mistake, and while Dean was all for saving the world, the dust was starting to get to him._

"_It's not like we have anything else to go on," Sam reminded his older brother. _

_Dean stared at the book for a second then ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, whatever. I'm going for coffee, you want anything?"_

"_I'm fine." His eyes never left the text in front of him._

_The library's door opened in to the owner's bookstore, "Bock Ordered Books." A few patrons were browsing in the isles. Dean was halfway to the entrance when he spotted a Swedish Goth fashion model. She was carrying a stack of books and, every few seconds, would glance at the one on top and smile. Dean wandered over. She was tall and blonde and probably could be a model if she really wanted to. She was a little young for Dean's taste, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view._

"_Hey," he said, sneaking a peek at the book that interested her so much. It was a testament to the good impression a wizard had had on him that hunter didn't bristle at the title._


End file.
